


Uninvited Guests

by Leonia42



Series: A Violet in a Snowstorm [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action, Drama, F/M, Heavensward, Holy See of Ishgard, Mystery, Stormblood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leonia42/pseuds/Leonia42
Summary: While there are many positive reasons for the Holy See of Ishgard to open its borders to the greater world again, there are just many seedy elements that wish to take advantage of the situation for their own purposes. Venice is summoned away just as some of these elements begin to rear their heads, creating nothing but headaches for the Temple Knights, the Watch, and the Machinists' Guild. In the background, the Inquisition waits for its own opportunity to shine once more. Contending with more problems than he is accustomed to, Aymeric also has to confront a growing personal dilemma and decide what is most important going forward.[This story takes place during 4.1, contains MCH 60-70 spoilers, and is a two-parter in conjunction with "Illusive Loyalty"]





	Uninvited Guests

When Aymeric caught up with Hilda, the young woman was in a right panic.

“Where’s everybody else?” she asked in disbelief.

“I was closest,” he answered, rather reluctant about the current state of affairs. “Where’s the fire?”

“What fire..” she looked around frantically. “Oh, you’re not usually the funny type.”

He supposed spending a relaxing evening with Venice had rubbed off on him in more ways than he could have anticipated. He tried a steadier approach, “What happened?”

“Well, there was this mugging, right? Except now I’m beginning to suspect it was staged because when I went to help the poor woman, who I definitely didn’t recognise, there was an armed robbery a couple of streets over. The baker chewed me out pretty hard when I got there.

Anyway, turns out there have been a string of incidents like that, each occurring after a patrol has passed the affected location. Too many coincidences leaves me to suspect that somebody is leaking Watch roster information or somehow stealing it to exploit our weaknesses for..whatever reason. I don’t know, you’re better at figuring out the why of things.”

“What does your gut say about the motive?” he asked.

“What does my.. ser, did you hit your head tonight? You’re usually more about protocols and procedure, logic, all that practical sort of shit.”

“How many robberies happened tonight that you know of?”

“Three but not all patrolmen have checked in yet.”

“This is highly irregular, even for the Brume. But why call it in rather than wait until morning?” He couldn’t see any immediate problems unfolding around them.

“Did I interrupt something important?” Hilda enquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Hilda, I’m here now. What do you need of me?”

“There are a lot of peculiarities, too many for my liking. But also, I noticed something strange near the Apothecary, a terrible smell. I know, I know but there was one odour in particular that stood out. Somebody is collecting materials used for high-potency explosives.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye, and that shop wasn’t anywhere near the other targets. I thought maybe we should see if these common thieves have bigger goals in mind.”

“So walk me through the mugging from earlier in the night. What specifically makes you think it was staged?”

“The timing, the way the lady didn’t want to report it, the way I can’t find either of them after searching all night. The man who tried to shake her down was using a carbine but it wasn’t like one of ours and didn’t look like a Limsan gun either. There was a strange glowing light around the barrel, like one of them Allagan artefacts. The baker said he saw something similar when he was robbed so it stands to reason the pair were working together, right?”

“Mayhaps,” he began to pace, trying to process all of the information, trying to determine which further questions to ask. Again, it struck him that there was a distinct lack of immediate danger. Hilda was clearly worked up, showing signs of paranoia and general fear, he couldn’t leave her in that state.

She took a sharp breath then looked down at her boots, a half-defeated expression crossed her petite face, “Two crimes at the same time, I couldn’t witness both. It was a diversion damn it, and I fell for it.”

“They don’t sound like common thieves with tactics like that, nor do they sound local,” Aymeric said helpfully, effortlessly resting a hand upon her shoulder. If he was beginning to feel overwhelmed by how much had occurred in such a short period of time then she was definitely shouldering more than her fair share. He waited for her to deduce their next move.

“Aye, but now we can do the same thing,” she said with excitement, the epiphany striking her hard and fast. “I want to figure out what’s up with smell. You could hang back in case they come back or try to leave, assuming it’s even connected. Or back me up if something else goes wrong; which, given tonight’s history, is a distinct possibility.”

Under normal circumstances, it would have been up to him to devise a plan. The best way for Hilda to deal with her fear was to confront it head on and he wouldn’t begrudge a competent subordinate for taking the initiative from time to time. The slumbering night was turning into restless early morning, if the suspects knew they were being watched they would not reveal themselves when the sun was up.

As for the logistics, he would have preferred to trade roles. Hilda was better dressed for sulking about the streets without drawing too much attention whereas he was perhaps the most famous face in all of Ishgard. Regardless, it brought him little comfort to watch her go.

Rather belatedly, he had wished he had encouraged Venice to come along. For his part, he chose to take a look out between two buildings with just enough of a view to see both ends of the street, the only possible paths to reach the one building in question.

He didn’t hold his breath, or at least consciously think he had; it was supposed to be a quick check of the premises and an apologetic laugh about wasting his time. But the fiery explosion which rocked the adjoining area after Hilda rounded the corner had left him breathless.

Immediately, he ran after her, sword drawn, cloak billowing behind him.

There was no time to take in the raining timbers or the splattering of shattered bricks which had once made up the two story building nestled between two equally unassuming pieces of residential property. The only shouts came from bystanders awoken by the noise, not from within the building itself. Or so he hoped.

When he found her again, she was crumpled against a wall, conscious and relatively unharmed. Her breathing was sharp, her red eyes seemed unfocused, but she was alert  enough to take his outstretched arm. He helped her to her feet then caught sight of a figure moving near the back where the debris had been pushed furthest away.

The mysterious man (or woman) in black garb took off in the opposite direction, moving as if their feet didn’t touch the ground. He gave chase, wishing he had stopped to grab a bow or even Hilda’s strange firearm. No time. The streets were blissfully empty but wouldn’t remain as such for long. There was a shrill scream, a woman pinned to the wall by the desperate assailant, a thin dagger’s edge pressing into the skin of her neck.

“Don’t!” he proclaimed, recognising the signs of a potential hostage situation; perhaps the fiend wanted to exchange her life for something. Wrong. He couldn’t have been _more_ wrong.

The figure looked over their shoulder while the extended blade dug into their victim’s throat, too startled by the closing gap with their pursuer to entertain the notion of a parley. They made off again in a cloud of smoke, seemingly into thin air while their victim’s body fell lifelessly to the stone street. The cut was merciful and quick though the spurting blood displayed a terrifying scene. Nonetheless, Aymeric knelt by the woman, her final expression one of abject horror. He would have called for a conjurer’s aide but it was far too late for the power of holy magicks.

“No. _Why_?” he whispered to no one. There was no sense to be made, the killing had been completely unnecessary. The woman had simply been in the would-be suspect’s path of destruction, nothing more than collateral damage. It had all taken place in morning twilight as well, he scarcely believe he’d witness the likes of such ruthless villainy.  “May you find eternal peace in the Fury’s embrace.”

The innocent’s husband, a well-dressed merchant, arrived shortly thereafter.

“Why didn’t you save her? What kind of lord commander lets this happen?” he cried out, pushing him aside.

“I couldn't get here in time, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Another day, another apology to make, another letter of condolence to ink.

“Save your empty words. This city was safer when the Archbishop was still with us.”

Aymeric flinched, as if the man had backhanded him in the face.

“I swear to you, we will bring the perpetuar to justice. By the Fury, I will not rest until we do.”

“What will I tell my son? Will your oaths make up for the loss of his mother?”

“No..”

He turned his back to the grieving father and husband, making his way back towards the charred remains of the building that had produced the unknown villain. Hilda was leaning heavily against some unused building materials, favouring one leg over the other.

“Are you alright, ser?” she asked, genuine concern pouring forth from her ruby eyes.

Was _he_ alright? She was the one who had survived a blast of who knew what at close range. He wanted to answer truthfully, had the question came from Venice he might have done so. The mask of duty fell then, for which he was silently grateful.

“The family will not have to agonise as we try to determine the cause of the victim’s death, there is small comfort in that.”

Venice had asked why his people were so unphased by the concept of death, as if their insensitivity were an abnormality. He wished that were the case but experience had taught him long ago to not dwell on what he could not change. Ruminations could come after the suspect was brought into custody.

“What do you need me to do?” Hilda asked, trying to keep emotion from creeping into her voice.

“Get yourself checked over by one of the chirurgeons first and foremost. If you are up to it, and there is nothing pressing left to do here, return to the Congregation so we can sift through what evidence there is. This has been the second brazen attack in the last couple of days, I would not wait for a pattern to emerge while we are still able to piece together what has gone wrong. We must move as swiftly as we are able.”

He did not mention that he suspected that public support for their investigations was already beginning to wane. Somehow he had to find a way to push his emotions aside while images of the stunned woman’s expression, her husband sobbing while cradling her lifeless body to his chest, the encroaching bystanders’ fearful whispers, played out over and over. It was a knight’s duty to serve and protect the weak, the Temple Knights had to be seen doing something so that panic would not determine their next move.

\---

By the next morning, his head was swimming with possible theories about recent events. He couldn’t stop thinking about how quickly the assailant had dispatched their victim, it was rare to see the use of such cowardly weapons in a city full of proud spears and swords; the absence of honour was abhorrent. The murderer’s armour definitely looked Eastern, was it too much of a coincidence that they had apprehended a Doman thief not but a week before?

The boy had proven himself an asset since then, helping map out the lower reaches of the city which he described as being used by various criminal groups that had been left unchecked in exchange for a reduction in his sentence. He hoped that the amiable relationship would continue so that he might learn enough Hingan from the boy to write up his future trade drafts in both languages.

The sounds of the bustling streets tore him away from the grisly images which had stolen his sleep, the spot of his favourite morning ritual came into view: a meager open-air cafe on the corner of two streets near the Brume. The location was perfect for unscripted catch-ups with the locals, whether they be constituents or other honourable members, all going about their own private routines, engaging in candid conversations free of hidden agendas. It was one of the few places he could be himself, just another member of the public.

That particular morning, one of the small outdoors tables was occupied by a welcome sight. Venice Lysander, Warrior Light, was tucking into a giant-sized breakfast, nearly oblivious to his presence. When he approached, she motioned for him to join her, too busy gorging herself to do much else.

“Good morning, you’re looking..”

“Please, I look like shit,” she stopped him. “I feel like shit too.”

“You’re up rather early,” he admitted.

“Not because I want to be. Should have taken the damn linkpearl out. Do you know how loud those things can get? Damn Scion business, interrupting my, _admittedly_ , self-imposed vacation. Alright, maybe I’ve been avoiding them but that’s still a rude way to send a message.”

He ordered a Coerthan tea with birch syrup so that she could continue her venting without further interruption. Venice’s temper was charming in its own way, a reminder of how raw she could be when she wasn’t having to put on airs or filter herself for respectable company. She possessed an untamable passion unlike anything he had seen, a quality he deeply admired to the point of casual envy.

As she continued her onslaught of complaints, he tried his best to keep up with the colourful vocabulary she had acquired in her myriad travels. Venice could deftly wield about profanities and slang as if they were weapons of war. Listening to her was both alarming and highly educational.

“You kept drinking after I left, didn’t you?”

“Aye,” she looked embarrassed for her current state. “Now I have to hurry up and get sober to see whatever wonderful thing Arenvald has stumbled across. Then I’ll no doubt get roped into playing as Lyse’s shiny trophy lackey while she gets in over her head once again. Gods, I don’t want to return to the heat. And the sand. And the sense of hopelessness. I can hear the locals whinging already..” she guzzled down a freshly poured glass of orange juice. “I’m so sorry for dumping this on you. It seems I’ve lost whatever manners I had developed since coming here.”

“It’s quite alright, if you must depart soon then I am glad to have the chance to see you off. After last night..” He trailed off, he hadn’t much time to think on it but with her sitting right there in front him it was impossible to ignore what had occurred during their last meeting.

“I won’t mince words, what happened last night was something special,” her voice lowered, her anger dissipated entirely. “I don’t...don’t want to identify what is happening between us because to name it is to give it form. And once something has form, it can be taken away.”

“I hardly know what to make of it myself.”

It was the truth, he had made a poor bid to explain himself at Anyx Trine. He did not require that she find a way to express herself in kind, only that she felt free to say whatever she wanted. The mutual affection had been there, it was possible that that was _all_ it would amount to. His life was a whirlwind of conflict and resolution, not knowing where he stood with Venice in the midst of it was absolutely maddening, moreso because he couldn’t convince himself what he wanted from her. All he knew for certain was what he wanted _for_ her.

While he had been bursting to tell her how he felt, he had not meant to entrap her wild spirit in the process. He could have found a better way to tell her how beautiful she was, how much he valued her as an independent person rather than as the hero everyone else wanted her to be, how much he looked forward to being around her whenever possible. Instead, he had nearly asked her to turn away from what she did best because he could not bear losing her, how overbearing he must have appeared then.

It was a bridge too far, no wonder she didn't know how to react. He was not accustomed to such selfish thoughts or emotions, he had long since given up his personal well-being for the sake of uplifting others. He was chained to the demands of Ishgard, practically betrothed to her whims, but his heart was beginning to yearn for a more tangible source of devotion.

“Well, I won’t leave you in the dark,” she continued, reaching out to touch his leg just above the knee. He couldn’t quite feel the light touch through his armour. The intention was clear,”I care about you a lot, probably more than anyone else. We’ve been through so much together. That is a fact, regardless of any other uncertainties. So, whatever comes next.. I don’t know but you shouldn’t be left wondering on that point. Not like I once was.”

There were many deaths which hung over her; Haurchefant’s by far outweighed the rest. He knew it without her speaking of him in direct terms. There had been no time to grieve, for either of them. But there she sat, finally with enough time for her actions to catch up to her all at once, she was bound to reflect upon that point her life at great length. No doubt she blamed herself, as he had done. How cruel it seemed that the one event that had connected them most had been the loss of a tremendous friend, mayhaps the only friend either of them had had at certain times.

He had been so sure they were lovers at one stage. When he discovered that they weren’t, that she had only recognised the signs after the fact, he was appalled by the gross unfairness of it all. Aymeric did not wish to think ill of Haurchefant, but to leave Venice languishing like that, eternally wondering what could have been, was purely disrespectful. Though her pain was agnostic to his intentions, it was real enough. It caused her to hesitate about loving another, it kept her at a distance from those who would call themselves her friends.

He liked to imagine that out of that dreadful moment, something new had been given life. She would move on eventually, as carefree as the wind, never staying in any one place for too long. He would cherish and make the most of her company while it lasted. There was no reason he should expect otherwise.

_Fury forgive me, I only wish to make her whole._

Her dark green eyes watched him, full of mystery and wild tales, as vibrant as the spring crystals which grew on the floating isles high above in the Sea of Clouds. The impending parting did not upset him as much as her spontaneous need to find her own place had done previously. She was regularly at the beck and call of the rest of the realm, though he noticed it was ultimately her own desire to go that took her away, not the need to fulfill the commands of others. How quiet the manor had gone without her presence, he barely knew what to do with himself without her there.

“Aymeric?” she asked quietly, her hand had not moved.

“Yes?”

“You’ve gone really quiet..”

“I was trying to memorise your face before you left, I do not have any portraits of you at home,” he stumbled over his words, thinking on his feet. Her caramel, sunkissed skin went pink in the cheeks.

As bungled as his attempt to say is his piece had been, it was still honest and pure. Her own response was hardly any clearer though he appreciated her efforts all the same. They were right back to fumbling in the dark.

“Well, I hope you’re not memorising how much of an arse I’ve been this morning. I do wish I could have given you more fair warning.

“You’re fine, stop worrying so damn much,” If it had been in his power to remove all her ails, he would have done so in a heartbeat. “This may be what you need, you’ve had time to think. Now it is time to act. To be a Warrior of Light again.”

“Aye,” she patted his leg then got up. “You might be right. Try not to get into too much trouble while I am away, alright?”

Had she not been made aware of the events that had transpired over the previous night? He didn’t see the need in drawing her attention to it, better to let her depart in high spirits than worry about him. If the Fury was kind, the rest of the city wouldn’t yet be privy to the details either, granting him precious time to get ahead of the story.

“I can manage the fort in your absence,” he leaned over to embrace her, she gave him a small kiss on the cheek while hugging him back. He would have held onto her forever if he could. “May the Fury keep you safe.”

\---

The second time he was forced to come to Hilda’s timely rescue couldn’t have been any more different than the last. She had been like a hound with a bone trying to find any sign of the armed robbers that were intent on upstaging her and the Watch. They were no closer to discovering how the outsiders had gotten into the city or why they were interested in disrupting the populace.

The Inquisition had grown more impatient with each passing day. Not caring to ask the illuminating questions, they had set out a bounty for the heads of the firearm-wielders. In so doing, they had sown distrust in the ranged weapon’s future and cast a shadow over the usefulness of the Watch.

It should not have been a great surprise to find the leader of the Machinists’ Guild pinned down beside the reckless Watch leader, a small device held in one hand while his own carbine was poised at the sound of the newcomer’s heavy footsteps.

“Lord Aymeric,” Lord Stephanivien de Haillenarte greeted him with a wry smile, lowering the barrel. In the distance, more shots could be heard, Hilda too busy returning fire to take notice that her call had been answered. “And Ser Muscadain is it?”

“Aye, there should be more knights arriving soon,” the Elezen with the amethyst eyes said.

“Hopefully they will be unnecessary, I would rather not disrupt current patrols until this is resolved,” Aymeric added. “What of the Watch?”

“I had a similar thought, in case this goes further south. We should keep the normal routes covered. Besides, four of us ought to be enough to chase a couple of rats out of their den,” Hilda said, motioning for the others to keep low. She didn’t meet Muscadain’s eye but she seemed reassured by his presence all the same.

It wasn’t exactly the group composition Aymeric would have preferred, there were no mages to watch their backs, neither the supportive nor destructive variety. He should have put more faith in the new tech that his colleagues advocated but he had no run enough missions with the Watch to know the full extent of their capabilities.

The shots coming from their opponents began to thin in their numbers, the silence between each burst grew longer.

“They’re pulling back,” Lord Stephanivien surmised, Aymeric did not find himself in disagreement with the assessment. “Probably means there’s not a lot of decent cover between here and wherever they are going.”

“Oh no they don’t, I’m not giving up that easily,” Hilda barked out while touching a switch on the device hanging from her belt. A moderate explosion sent fire and smoke towards them, pushed on by the strong winds of an oncoming blizzard, momentarily obscuring their vision.

“Well done, you gave them a smoke-screen to slip out behind, as if the storm didn’t provide sufficient cover already,” Ser Muscadain said with mock applause.

“Shut up,” she seethed.

“Is anyone familiar with the layout down there?” Lord Stephanivien asked insightfully, pointing towards the narrow corridor which fed into one of the maze-like lower levels.

“Moderately,” Aymeric offered. All he knew came from Shen’s crudely drawn maps which he had been poring over earlier that afternoon along with Venice and Ser Handeloup’s generic descriptions from their recent excursion into the depths.

“How long before you can redeploy that turret, Hilda?” the young lord asked, his tone entirely casual, proving again that he was the most knowledgeable member of the group. Aymeric didn’t mind a civilian with combat expertise taking control of the situation, whether directly or not, but did not relish having to explain it to the count of House Haillenarte after the fact.

“Couple of minutes, should be ready by the time we’ve set up again.”

“Good, we can establish some crossfires when we have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“How many targets are there?”

“Two for sure, possibly three. Likely more than that if they’re luring us towards some place in particular.”

“And you assume they are all using these.. kind of.. rapid-fire weapons?”

“Seems that way.”

Aymeric looked over at Muscadain with his shield and sword drawn, conditioned to engage in the old-fashioned style, the knight watching their flank, ready to respond to his lord’s orders. Times had changed, tactics would have to follow suit. Stephanivien and Hilda also looked expectantly up at him.

“Right, their withdrawal has coincided with our reinforcements, whether they realise it or not. We can assume they have a more defensible position in terrain we are less prepared for so we should not take any unnecessary risks while in territory that favours our enemy. While it may seem foolish to bring a sword to a gunfight, I believe we may yet surprise them.

Lord Stephanivien, if you are committed to aide us then I would kindly ask you to assist Hilda in drawing their fire away, giving us time to move in close. This will also grant us an opportunity to assess their strengths and weaknesses. We will hold off on backup as long as necessary though I will ask that contingent of knights and watchmen be sent forthwith to cut off their ability to escape.

Let us be about it then, the Fury guide our hand.”

He had briefly considered an alternate arrangement with each knight paired to a gunmen but wasn’t sure how well the chemistry of thrusting strangers into such an impromptu pairing would work out. He was also dubious of how much discipline Hilda possessed, she was making a habit of getting into messy situations and still had a long way to go to become the leader he needed her to be. It occurred to him that not every soldier could be as competent as a Temple Knight, something to keep in mind when working alongside the Alliance’s Grand Companies in the future. When there were too many variables, it was best to take point, to trust in himself and hope the rest could keep up; so that is exactly what he did.

Makeshift barricades lend credence to the notion that the marksmen had moved back to their base of operations The darkness he had been anticipating was nowhere to be found, lit torches lined the street corners, the gusting winds created an unsettling howl as they spread amongst the decrepit rubble. The undercity barely looked like a piece of Ishgard’s splendor, he would be sure to have it thoroughly secured afterwards, perhaps repurposed as living quarters for the clamouring outsiders looking to splurge their coin.

While his mind worked out the political possibilities, his eyes were focused on the exchanges of bullets in the distance, he could hear crude insults from their enemies as they goaded the machinists further into their lair. Though his blade was drawn, he tried to keep the blue metal from reflecting the light around him, Muscadain did the same by adopting a defencive stance with his shield held out before him. It wasn’t entirely practical for two men in armour to engage in subterfuge but they made up for speed by relying on roundabout stealth, taking longer paths if it kept them in the shadows.

The wind continued to rustle around them, strange given the enclosed nature of the lower levels. Dust hung over everything as they got closer to their objective, it took him a moment to realise that it was actually snow, the long icicles clinging to the nearby stonework giving away the temperature.

“How is that possible?” Muscadain whispered, echoing his thoughts.

“Perhaps there is a breach of some kind? Though their defences are quite weak, they appear to be well-established otherwise.”

“They could be bringing materials in via airships..”

In response, a mechanical whirring noise screeched over the shouting winds. Two, three more engines roared into life.

“I daresay you may be right.”

“I think we found the Convictory’s stolen mana-cutters,” a voice on the linkpearl suggested.

“Draw them out or we’ll lose them!” he shouted in response. If it had been the first time he gave the order, he might have been more restrained.

The backside of the encampment was left open, guarded by a single young Hyur, cradling his weapon in his arms as if it were a small child, the converter on his belt showcasing a variety of lights and switches looking altogether more complex than anything used by the Machinists’ Guild. He could not discern the mana-cutters locations but was certain they would be near where the storm had made its entrance. There were no cannons or other ballistic craft, only weakly held together scaffolding and oil fixtures.

“How good is your throwing arm?” he asked his fellow knight.

“Not as good as a lancer’s but I can get close enough to knock him off-balance.”

“Keep your Hallowed Ground in reserve. Whenever you’re ready,” Aymeric nodded, mindful of his own defencive abilities. It would be tempting to shield the body right away. At close-range, their opponents would have to be quick on the draw, fully aware of their ricochet potential. They were most vulnerable while closing the gap. Nonetheless, he was prepared to cast Clemency or Intervention if they were required.

The cerulean shield found its target, eliciting a string of curses from its recipient, the hard steel creating a loud clamour against the cobbles.

When the young man was grappled to the ground, Aymeric asked the first question that came to him, ”Whom do you serve?”

“No one! We are free men,” the Hyur touted.

“The people of Ishgard are also free, why do you and your choose to terrorise innocents?”

“I don’t have to answer to you or anyone else.”

“If you cooperate, you will be treated fairly with the full mercy of Ishgardian justice.”

The boy laughed, spitting out his reply, “I know what that means. You’ll get no more from me.”

He had to admit, the Inquisition had turned that noble phrase around to mean brutality of the worst order, even the former Lord Commander had used it as such. Still, he needed answers and the suspect was in the best position to provide them. If he had to wait, so be it.

“Keep a hold on him, I’ll see if we can find more compliancy in his companions,” he said to Muscadain who nodded and pulled the lad to his feet.

“Do you think it wise to proceed on your own?” he hesitated.

“No, but what other option is there? If they reach their ships, this will all have been an exercise in futility. I will be fine.”

“Take my shield, ser. It won’t stop a stray bullet but you may find it useful for another purpose,” he nodded at the kite shield still lying on the ground.

The miscreant continued to struggle against his captor until Muscadain was successful in clamping him in fetters, the cursing continued until a rough punch to the shoulder silenced the lad.

“Thank you. May the Fury grant you patience for I think you will have need of it,” he said as he  scooped up the shield from where it lay, trusting his subordinate to know what to do next.

With shield and sword in hand, he approached the unsuspecting band of thieves. The linkpearl remained silent which was probably for the best because his two civilian comrades had continued to fail at following his simple instructions. The kite shield was large enough to attract unwanted attention, its underside had a clean sheen that bespoke of a lack of heavy use or the over fondness of its owner. He thought the mirror-like quality might be of use in finding his opponents without revealing his own position, more useful than it might have been in actual combat.

His style of fighting was slow, he was neither the swiftest warrior nor the most aggressive, the shield was more of an extra burden than a boon. The iconic long broadsword that he favoured was made up of a medley of battle-tested metals: dazzling larimar, hardened adamantite, trusted steel; ornate as well as practical, the hilt long enough to accomodate two-handed grips when warranted. He preferred to rely on good positioning and deliberate, patient strikes, wearing his opponents down through attrition rather than by overwhelming strength.

In addition to his offensive armaments, every aspect of his clothing and armour was tailored specifically to deal with both day-to-day wear as well as most combat situations. Both shoulders were fully encapsulated within immense pauldrons because an injury to either arm would utterly devastate his technique. On the other hand, his lack of gauntlets allowed for flexibility so he could swap weapon-hands with ease. The cloak acted as misdirection, leaving many enemies ignorant of the cuirass and greaves which lay beneath. When in motion, it could also hide the movement of his limbs, buying him precious time.

To be Ishgard’s most prominent, most unassailable knight had been his longstanding childhood ambition; it did not matter to him what sort of fame or fortune came with such status, only that he was able to serve the Holy See with the very best of his ability. Many regarded his fighting prowess as rivalling that of any member of the former Heaven’s Ward. When he had been granted the single opportunity to test that theory, he had been pitted against all twelve of the holy knights, stripped both of his sword and his pride. Never again.

He paused behind a pile of stones to assess the flow of battle, noting that he could rely more on his sense of sound than sight, each gun or turret shot announcing a body in lieu of a brightly lit beacon. Neither Hilda nor Stephanivien could be seen amongst the maze of wooden planks and disused crates. The puncturing clank of a hypercharged rook turret covered their retreat, an arc of blue lightning zapping at any who would get too close. There were shouts as the two pressed further inwards, pushing the enemy unbeknownst to them towards his safe position, giving him no time to deliberate when he would make his move.

Another chunk of metal was deployed on one of the upper walkways, a bishop turret with a circular firing arc meant to strike many opponents at once or to encourage a group to avoid a particular location. The latter is what it managed to do, continuing the pressure on the thieves, forcing them to back up as a collective unit. If they had done as he had wanted, he would already be busy tearing into individual gunsmen instead of being presented with too many targets at once. What he would have given for Venice’s Holy or Aero spells right then.

The element of surprise was still on his side. He stood between his opponents and their back exit, undaunted with his blade ready to make its first cut, feet set apart in a low, shield stance.

“Were you expecting someone else? Your friend has been detained, as you will be if you wish to give up this deadly game of yours. Let it not be said that the option of surrender was never presented,” he spoke boldly, loudly so that his friends might know his location while they continued their advance. “Lay down your arms and you will be afforded the same amount of clemency.”

They laughed and jeered, though none was ready to pull the trigger in such a narrow space. He counted roughly five or six men, most Hyur with a few Roegadyn in the back, there could have been more out of sight. Judging by their motley attire and burly mannerisms, he suspected they were La Noscean natives.

Instead of cowering behind the shield’s protective girth, he waited until the first man was upon him, throwing the chunk of steel at his shoulder, the one he needed to operate his firearm effectively. The carbine fumbled out of his grasp, a single bright shot snapping off into the ground at his feet, inciting panic amongst the rest. The rush continued but their trigger fingers moved conspicuously away from their comfortable resting places, the guns clutched close to the body as if they might be oblique clubs. While still outnumbered, it was a fair deal more tenable to fight bulky melee combatants.

Since they had denied his plea for disarmament, he saw no reason to hold back. The Temple Knights had secured one living suspect, if the rest could not be disabled then that was a result of their own poor decision-making. He had no qualms killing those who would thwart the arm of justice, even if they had no proven to be murderers themselves. No reason to give them the chance to commit more crimes.

He hacked and slashed his way through despondent limbs, crippling the machinery they were so dependent upon, losing ground as more men poured forth to try to beleaguer his diminishing constitution. As long as he kept his front to them, they could not take him unawares. There were wieldy punches and the occasional boot knife to evade, nothing quite as clean as a countering blade that he could predictably parry. Scrappers only knew how to fight dirty, all he had to do was outlast them.

Two men coordinated their attack to try and flank him, one a towering Roegadyn, the other a tall and lean Midlander who was sneaking around while his mate came burling towards the cautious swordsman, arms swinging madly as he tried to land a powerful punch which might offset his opponent’s balance long enough for the Hyur to do whatever he was intent on doing. Aymeric had to focus his defence against the bigger of the two but would not let the other escape his sight.

In an effort to create distance, he kicked hard at the Roe while swinging his sword in a large side-arc to dissuade his compatriot. The man tried to go for the gap between arm and shoulder armour but the heavy brush with platemail-clad boots had succeeded in delaying his approach. To capitalise on the small gain, Aymeric tried a few broad swipes to test how committed his opponent was to getting close enough to landing a meaningful strike. The Roe backed off but only by a couple of ilms. He looked over at his companion who was just in range of his goal, no time to dissuade the other one.

For a moment, he wished he still had the shield so that he may pry the Hyur off his person. The best he could manage was to remain upright while finishing off the big man, then he could worry about the other one which had latched onto him from behind with all four limbs. Lucky for him, the lean man’s weight was of no consequence as he was still able to maintain a proper Sword Oath stance completely unhindered. 

With one grand push, he was able to thrust upwards with his blade straight into the Roe’s large belly, he had intended to go for the lower ribs where it was easiest to penetrate but the man had swiveled awkwardly in preparation for his next pounding strike. When he tried to pull back, the blade became entangled in the twisted up leather jerkin, requiring two hands and sufficient leverage to work it back out. That left him momentarily disarmed while the Midlander continued to hold on, trying to topple him over. Without the aide of his companion for a distraction, the stranglehold became erratic and desperate.

After another powerful kick, he finally freed his sword from the first man, reversed the grip, then immediately plunged the pointed end blindly behind him, hoping to meet a soft, vital target inside the Midlander. The target was certainly soft and plump, the man’s upper thigh ripped to shreds, the hamstring clipped into tatters which garnered an animalistic yelp. Still the Hyur clung on, grappling with both hands for his foe’s exposed neck. With one hand, he grabbed the man and tossed him aside, gently as he was able, having already landed the crippling blow.

Free at last from the pair’s onslaught, he tried to catch his breath and assess the results of his labours. Five additional bodies were strewn about, still covered in blood and grime, some still gasping for air, most missing limbs or other chunks of dismembered flesh, their garments torn apart, their hopes for victory all but crushed. If there were more men to fight, they had made their respectable exits. His sword and cloak were covered in the blood of his enemies, a mess he could leisurely contend with when all was said and done.

He retrieved the shield from the carnage and tried in vain to find a suitably clean piece of cloth to wipe down his blade as the linkpearl in his right ear chimed back to life.

“That was quite the stunning distraction you created for us. Well done, Lord Commander,” Stephanivien congratulated him, sounding a little too excited and energetic.

“This was not the plan we agreed to,” he responded carefully, trying his best not to criticise while at the same time trying not to condone what had transpired.

“Mayhaps not but while you’ve been busy, we’ve found the prepped mana-cutters. What men remain appear to be making haste towards them now. What would you have us do?”

“Stop them from reaching their ships!” he shouted as if it should have been obvious. Why did he have to do all the work and the strategising? Nevermind transcribing the pile of of paperwork that would surely come afterwards.

“One’s slipped past, I think I can get a shot..” Hilda said, a loud blast shortly followed. She had missed, telling the would-be escapees that their window to leave was rapidly drawing to a close.

 _Damn it all_ , he was simply too far away do anything.

When he made contact with Stephanivien, the first small craft was already in the air, whipping up a ferocious downdraft. Coupled with the raging snowstorm beyond, there was complete chaos as the makeshift defences crumpled and the remaining criminals fought each other for seats in the three remaining vessels.

“Can you fire into the engine somehow, keep it from getting any higher?” he asked the engineer, sounding like he had some knowledge on the subject of blasting flying machines out of the sky. In truth, he had no idea if it was possible for a single carbine to do enough damage.

“I can do one better,” the blond Elezen beamed.

He threw out the ball of mechanical alloys which would unfold to reveal one of his favourite turrets. The prototype deployed midair, fired a few rounds of incendiary, then detonated in brilliant fashion. The affected airship shattered into various pieces, raining destruction down upon its fellows as well as the two lords, one of which could not contain his jubilation.

“Get down you two!” Hilda yelled out unnecessarily, running towards their hiding place. They couldn’t remain close for long, each ship’s fuselage lit up and together created a cascading firestorm which threatened to destroy everything in its path.

“Go, I’ll cover the rear,” Aymeric said, for once grateful that he had recovered Muscadain’s shield. They hurried back towards the steps which led to the thieves’ den, back to where they had started as fast they could.

When the fires had been put out by the church’s thaumaturges and conjurers, there was very little left to the imagination. The ships and their occupants had been eradicated. All that remained was to sift through the wreckage for clues as to the group’s identity and how they had come to breach the undercity, a matter that would have to be resolved immediately by the masons of House Dzemael.

Ser Muscadian had returned with Ser Lucia and a small complement of knights to help dig through the evidence. There wasn’t much to be found save a couple of unopened crates.

“Looks like a group of smugglers to me,” Hilda surmised.

“Aye. Any idea where these crates came from?” Lucia enquired.

“Before everything went down, I found a Roegadyn shifting one of these boxes through the Brume. At first, I thought he looked familiar so I followed. He was trying to avoid detection so I that just made me more curious. Then he started shooting and the rest you more or less know. We should pop one of these open and see what they were trying to hustle.”

“Already ahead of you,” Muscadain said, holding up a dark vial in his steel-covered hands.

“What in the Fury’s name..” Lucia’s eyes went big, she waved a torch over to get a better look and knew almost right away what the vial contained. “Don’t touch anything with your bare hands, especially _that_.”

“Dragon’s blood,” Aymeric said quietly, recognising the ichor more by its heavy, volcanic smell than the rich red colour.

“What would they want with it?” Hilda asked, nearly dreading the answer.

“Hard to say but it wouldn’t be dangerous to anyone outside of Ishgard which leaves some disturbing possible motives.”

He recalled the first time he had encountered the foul liquid amid pristine snow drifts covered in swathes of crimson and death. The bodies of his fellow knights lay still, motionless, freezing as the storm buried their remains, the wyrm corpses gushing their contents amongst their deceased murderers. The sickly, stomach-churning smell, the clinging grime, wyvern scales scattered everywhere, discarded lances sticking out like warding scarecrows warning away any who might offer assistance.

A heavy hand pushing against his shoulder, rolling him over onto his back, a pair of fingers groping to check the pulse against his neck. He opened his eyes to find Estinien hovering over him, having discarded or potentially losing his iconic dragoon helmet in the fight.

“You’re still alive, kid. We need to withdraw before the Horde returns. On your feet, now.”

“Anyone.. else..?” he tried to ask between rasped breaths, too shocked by the cold and the drain of his endurance from the battle to make sense of anything.

“Just us. The Fury favours the strong.”

The rest of the memory faded away but the smell of dragon’s blood did not.

He made his own rounds, trying to determine all he could about the criminals and their operation. Had they wanted to poison the people of Ishgard, they might have been able to do so. In another life, his concern would have been limited to the involvement of crazed heretics but he knew the reality of the dragon’s curse, had seen Estinien’s dreadful transformation into the Shade, had heard of accounts of innocents being forced to consume the blood so that they would become that which all Ishgardians had once despised.

As far as anyone was aware, it was impossible to cure the infection once it took hold, the last  residue of their ancestors’ greed and lust for power. While social and political change was making strides, the physical weakness that ran through all of King Thordan’s descendants would never truly go away. A single drop of dragon’s blood could destroy many lives.

He did not discover anything that readily linked the smugglers to the building which had exploded, nothing that looked like it might be of interest to a cold-blooded shinobi who could kill indiscriminately. So much for making progress on that front. While his own investigation bore no fruit,  the Machinists’ Guild was more than delighted to pore over the gadgets which they had recovered. There was still no sign of Cid’s missing device but threads were leading to its eventual recovery. One problem at a time.

\---

“Why would you do something so stupid?” Ser Muscadain demanded of his half-sister.

“Why didn’t you come when I asked for back up?” Hilda shouted back at him.

They were back at the infirmary, discussing various matters relating to recent investigations. Hilda had managed to injure herself after the cleanup of the smuggler den had begun, tripping over a seemingly benign contraption in the shadows on her way back to the upper level. The sprain she had suffered a couple of nights before turned into a fracture, the fall having done serious damage to her joints and legs. Through her misfortune, the culpable device was recovered and though nobody was certain what it was, it did fit the description of Cid’s latest contraption.

“Can we skip the quintessential sibling bickering for a few moments and go over what we know so far?” Aymeric tried to keep the peace, per usual.

“Sorry, ser,” they said together.

“Hilda suggested she smelled gunpowder at the residence earlier in the evening but who would use such antiquated methods as that? And what triggered the explosion?”

“Are you suggesting I don’t know what I am talking about? I swear by the Fury..”

“On the contrary, I was trying to figure out a motive.”

“There was one casualty inside: a Lalafell tennant who had recently rented the upper floor. Do we know anything about his identity?” He tried once more to steer them back onto the topic at hand.

“Not yet, ser, but we’re working on it.”

“Follow up on that lead for now. Maybe the landlord knows something of value. I will confer with Hilda in the meantime.”

“Yes, ser,” the knight turned to leave then offered one final thought, “Though may I propose one theory: this might have been an accident of some kind. A lone body seems to suggest he is a victim without intent to harm others.”

“I will consider this avenue of thought along with whatever else we come up with. Any ideas to contribute?” The question was for Hilda once her half-brother was gone.

“I just shoot things, Muscadian is better at figuring things out.”

“I know your injury could not be helped by the timing is still very disappointing. I need all the help I can get right now. When you’ve recovered to your fullest, I want you back in the field as soon as possible.”

“Isn’t this the kind of case that Venice could help with?” the half-Elezen offered.

“Aye but she is back in Rhalgr’s Reach now assisting the new Ala Mhigan government. We’ll have to make do without her help for once,” He was not amused by the poor timing but there was no way around it.

“Why does she get all the fun assignments..” Hilda complained with a sigh. He must have given her a stern look because she quickly tried to backpedal with a shift of topic, “Oh, I just remembered I was supposed to meet with her when all this flared up.”

“She sends her regards.”

“So you two _are_ spending off-duty hours together..” she flashed a knowing grin, he couldn’t decide if it made him uncomfortable that everyone seemed to have an opinion on his relationship status all of a sudden. Ishgard was the kind of city where everyone knew everyone else, it could not be avoided for long.

“Pray get better soon, Hilda,” he said in a neutral tone that he often used on the House floor. “And please consider selecting one of your Watch to cover in your stead until all is well again.”

“What about the suspect that got away?” she asked, innocently enough. He hesitated, his failure was still too fresh to speak about.

“All I could determine was that they wore armour similar to that of Lady Yugiri, I do not even know what gender they were or their current whereabouts.”

“Very curious,” she didn’t look that interested, a weariness fell over her.

“We’ll catch up another time, get some rest for now.”

The mysterious assassin was up to potentially two known victims. Though the smuggler operation had been successfully disrupted, he knew not whether another group would take their place or how they were able to get as far as they had. Assassins, smugglers, cultists.. there were too many players crowding the field at once. He was most interested in figuring out what had caused the recent spate of crimes, who was really pulling the strings? The shinobi worried him a great deal, it was the hardest to track or make sense of, a complete anomaly. The two events didn’t have to be related but he couldn’t help but think they were.

How convenient that the Scions had called Venice away when he had the most need of her assistance.


End file.
